


Monday's Child

by llaras



Category: Firefly
Genre: Origin Story, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 15:33:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4751606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llaras/pseuds/llaras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saffron's origin story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monday's Child

**Author's Note:**

> This is for [](http://dirty-diana.livejournal.com/profile)[dirty_diana](http://dirty-diana.livejournal.com/). It was supposed to be a mail-to-you drabble, but it, um, grew. :-) Thanks to [](http://finitejester37.livejournal.com/profile)[finitejester37](http://finitejester37.livejournal.com/) for the helpful comments along the way.

 

 

_fair of face_

She is born on a shadowed winter morning on a tiny island, in a smallish sea, on a biggish world. It is the same day the volcanoes shook the island, twins of fire and rock and smoke. But she is born alone, the other child breathless and cold. They are not wanted, so they are discarded, left to the Fates.

She is found covered, in a basket left by the green abbey door. Her mother sees flaming hair and bright eyes and names her Asha. It seems fitting, considering the ash that coats the streets. More importantly, it means "life". Her mother prays for those who gave away something so precious.

Asha is a quiet baby, but she smiles a lot. A charmer. Her older sisters fight over who gets to hold her and feed her. Her mother rocks her to sleep with lullabies about the sea. She is loved.

 

_full of grace_

Her toes point when she dances and she insists on being called Rissa, her favorite hero in _The Legend of Char_. The real Rissa is a princess and so is she. It doesn't matter that princesses aren't supposed to live in two room apartments with six noisy sisters and a laundress mother.

She chatters and entertains everyone with stories of brave heroes and wild adventures, her eyes wide in the right places, her voice whispery when it should be. Her mother says she will be an actress someday, or a writer. But Rissa wants to be a princess.

It is a busy summer afternoon when her mother dies under a wagon. When the dust clears the bear man takes her away and Rissa points her toes and dances to the orphanage. She leaves her voice and her stories in the middle of the street with her mother.

 

_full of woe_

Saints and fishing nets and taunts make up her world now. The other children call her Niu. Girl. She doesn't call them anything in return. Instead, she fills her daylight hours with piles of stones and carp bones. Her nights with unwept tears and unsung sorrow. The orphanage is cold and dirty.

Half of her days have now passed in this ill place. Her spark is gone, extinguished.

Then, on a stormy mid-week night, she is chosen. Not because of hard work or strength or spirit, but because of the potential a visitor sees behind the tangled hair and haunted eyes. A promise hidden deep.

Niu is given a place in the temple. No more saints, no more fishing nets, no more taunts. But she is watched at her tasks, measured with hard eyes and thin lips. She pretends to not see, to not understand. She waits for a hero.

 

_far to go_

She is Phoebe now and she has a sponsor. This is the woman who takes over her care and her training. This is the woman who tells her what to wear and how to move and what name she must now answer to. Phoebe hates her more than anything.

She is made to stand out in the rain, to go without sleep. She is deprived of food, water, and quiet. She is to be broken so that she can be made strong again. Her sponsor is disgusted by damaged things.

She awakes cold and bruised one frosty autumn morning and Phoebe is sure that she will be washed out to sea on the suffering tides. So she cries out for a hero, ends her silence. No one comes. So Phoebe gives in instead of giving up, releases her grief for something else - a new path, something she chooses for herself.

 

_loving and giving_

They let her pick her own name when she takes her oaths that sunny and bright afternoon. This small freedom is meant to show her that she has some control in this new world of silks and manners and secrets. She is now Clara.

She thinks the name suits her ruse of obedient student and budding young woman. But she lies in the dorm at night and laughs tears into her pillow while the other girls whisper and gossip.

The training house is not a cruel place, very much the opposite, in fact. But Clara has no intention of becoming a confidante of politicians or a bedpartner of prominent businessmen. If she has to play the game, it will be by her own rules.

So she learns how to modify her behavior, how to protect herself, how to love. She soaks up everything they can teach her. And she makes plans.

 

_works hard for a living_

She is told about the initiation on a clear weeks-end evening, just after bells. They tell her to prepare, that all of her years of training and studying are over. The food she eats that night tastes like dirt.

She leaves that night, her features changed and disguised. Once she is over the wall she makes her way to the coast and the port where she hopes to find passage. She is frightened, but determined.

Her first order of business is to get rid of the thing that makes her so valuable to those she's left behind.

He isn't handsome, but she thinks she sees kindness behind his bravado and drink. She tells him her name is Lia and she is going home. He takes her to the backroom of the bar. Later, all she remembers is the smell of the sea on him, the freedom this act will bring.

 

_bonny and blithe and good and gay_

It is her wedding day and Yolanda is smiling, but it is a triumphant smile and she knows that won't do. She has to play the part of the blushing bride. So she scowls at herself once in the mirror before carefully schooling her face to show a mixture of nervousness and hope.

Her husband-to-be is waiting for her. He's a fool, one more in a growing line of fools she has tricked and cheated and lied to in the years past. But with one difference - this fool has potential. Plus, the fact that he's stinking rich doesn't hurt.

She gathers up her wedding bouquet and her courage. There will be time for other paths if this one does not work out. She already has a few back-up plans ready.

This is what she does. Adapt and overcome. This is her life and she is the only hero she knows.


End file.
